


ten minutes

by miri8luh



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coffee Shops, M/M, but its ok hes still decent to marco, decent, i say decent, jean curses too much in his head, jeanmarco coffeeshop au basically, kind of but like thats only mentioned, not nice and lovely oh no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 12:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1509959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miri8luh/pseuds/miri8luh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschtein is an exhausted and crabby college student working in a coffee shop that stays open too late for his standards. </p>
<p>Enter Marco Bodt, the literal freckled embodiment of Jesus.</p>
<p>Cue a frazzled and tired Jean having too many internal dialogues about time passing too slowly and the purgatory that is walking towards said Marco Bodt.</p>
<p>Cue a lovely and saintly Marco who for some reason puts up with said Jean's internal debate enough to at least order a coffee, and see how things fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ten minutes

It's almost closing time and I'm leaning against the wall behind the counter, bored out of my mind. I glare at my shitty phone, willing that goddamn 11:50 to somehow turn into an 12:00. Ten minutes till closing time. Ten minutes until I can relish the moment of kicking the girl in my Drama class mooching off the WiFi and taking the tiniest sips possible of that iced mocha she ordered around two hours ago out of the damn coffee shop. I would've given up on dealing with these idiots long ago, if not for the fact that I couldn't snag that full ride and needed the money. The time ticks by, albeit slowly, and I let out a sigh I hadn't been aware I was holding in as a tiny little one replaces the zero previously occupying the number in the fourth slot. 

 

The bell above the door, and I'm jolted out of my stupor by some asshole entering the coffee shop. And the worst part isn't that there's only nine fucking minutes left, oh no. The worst part is the asshole's smile. Like who has the ability to be grinning like he just won the lotto at 11:51 in the goddamn nigh-oh hey look at that another number. Even better; 11:52. Who has the gall to be so elated at 11:52 on a Thursday night. Like, no. That goes against pretty much every unspoken rule of college life and suffering through shitty part-time jobs to pay off loans that seem to get bigger and more unreachable every single day. 

 

I drag myself to the counter as if every step is an eternity spent in purgatory, never quite free to leave because every time the torture seems to be finishing up a vicious cycle, a new one starts as if to simply say "fuck you Jean Kirschtein and screw any chance of you having a few minutes of goddamn peace." The asshole still won't stop smiling, and upon closer inspection of his infuriatingly grin-consumed face, I find a multitude of freckles spattering his tan cheeks. 

 

It's hard to believe I missed them earlier, because there they are, clear as day, as if the little shits are smiling at me too. In my exhaustion, I choose to believe that yes, freckles can in fact smile, and yes, they can also do it sarcastically and just to spite me. Even though this asshole looks like he could be our lord and savior Jesus Christ or something by the genuineness of his smile, he's still an asshole for being so happy. And his freckles are still assholes. How dare they occupy that saintly face, yet still proceed to mock my inability to make sane conclusions at 11:53 PM. 

 

But if I still want a job once Freckled Jesus over there leaves, I'd better be nice to the shit. Or at least not fuck up his coffee. Or fall asleep at the machine making his coffee. I did that once with Ymir (drama girl), and if not for the fact that her peppy blonde girlfriend (Kristina or something, I can't be bothered to remember my literal savior-it's too late and that takes too much effort) had calmed the taller girl down, Ymir would've complained so hard my job would be gone before I could even wake up. Which was not saying much because it takes three alarm clocks all on my pillow to wake me up every morning, even after a passable amount of sleep. 

 

But still, Krista (there we go, that's her name) was a literal goddess. (She and freckles over there should definitely talk about their various godly and holy lives. I'm sure they'd have a lot of stories of rescuing kittens from flaming trees and not cursing at kids they babysat through high school when they stepped on legos the little shits left lying around to toss around and reminisce over). 

 

"Hi and welcome to Hanji's Cafe. You have," taking a break to check my phone and cheering internally when I saw the time of 11:55 flash up, I continued. "Five minutes till we close up and Hanji won't have my head for kicking you out." As an afterthought, I added "and you Ymir," in the loudest acceptable voice. The bird I received as thanks was much appreciated, as at least I could always trust Ymir not to become a terrifying freckled angel.

 

And you know the worst part? The worst fucking part?! The asshole keeps smiling. He keeps on fucking grinning like I hadn't just given him the most monotonous and done greeting humanly possible. 

 

"Great!" he replies. Fucking 'great.' Great for you and your freckles. You weren't standing around dealing with shits for the past few hours, so feel free to say 'great.' Just wonderful. 

 

"And what can I get you."

 

"Marco."

 

"…What?"

 

"My name. It's Marco."

 

Holy shit this guy is either asking for a death wish or flirting like crazy. Or both. If he wasn't cute as hell I might just say fuck the job and kick the asshole to the curb. Goodbye to 'Marco' and his shitty freckles and cute (albeit insanely elated, is this kid on some kind of drugs) smile and hello sanity until the cold despair of unemployment or worse employment with a shittier boss than Hanji Zoe and colder and harsher manager than Levi Ackerman. 

 

"That's great for you. Since it's-" time to check the phone again. Oh look at that: "11:58, I suggest you make your choice of crappy beverage this café can offer in under two minutes and flirt with the terrible-albeit decent looking-barista later." That entire sentence was made worth it by the brilliant red shooting across Marco's face faster than an orgasm in a shitty hentai anime. 

 

"Oh um of course!" Freckles seems frazzled and I can't help the little smirk that snakes it's way up my face ever so slowly. "I'll have an iced coffee, half and half and one sugar please." 

 

"That'll be $3.50." I set about making the fastest and yet best iced coffee with half and half and one sugar I'd ever made. (Yes it was the first of this combination to surface in my inexperienced life as a barista, but it was still pretty good). Proud of my work, I handed him the plastic cup, making sure the lid was on tightly and that I hadn't punctured the straw sleeve in the slightest in it's short journey from the straw holder to Marco's freckled hand. God knows Levi would have my ass if a customer ever had a reason to complain of "hygiene issues."

 

Marco slides the money across the counter, kind of shyly as if he's nervous. Unless he's trying to pass of a counterfeit bill, which I doubt because it's such a trivial amount and it's been decided that he is too holy and perfect for that. But upon closer inspection, I find a neatly folded piece of white paper sitting under two quarters and on top of three crisp dollar bills (that seem very real and not at all counterfeit, but for all I know the quarters are fake instead, not that I even care). 

 

I raise an eyebrow in question to Marco, before asking: "What is this." To which he promptly (and shyly) replies "my number."

 

And what do you know, the speed of my blush rivals the speed of that shitty hentai orgasm even more than Marco's did, as I burst out into a smaller and more Jean-esque version of one of Marco's saintly smiles, tucking the paper carefully into my pocket, and making a silent promise to call as soon as I got home that night.

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to write a paper, and then go to sleep. 
> 
> So Jeanmarco happened instead. I hope you guys enjoyed the fruits of my 12 to 1 am procrastination.


End file.
